


It's Me, Dean Winchester

by Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Dark, Hell, M/M, POV First Person, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls/pseuds/Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a perturbed parody of <i>Are You There God? It's Me, Maragaret</i> & Supernatural.  I was inspired to write this based on Supernatural's 4x02 "Are You There God? It's Me Dean Winchester."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Are you there God? It’s me, Dean Winchester. I’m going to die today. I’m so scared God. I’ve never been alone. Not for eternity. Suppose Hell really lasts that long? Suppose I’ll burn there…forever? Please help me God. Don’t let the hellhounds get me. Thank you._

At midnight, they got me. (Fuck you God, I thought you were going to save me.) I feared the worst the second I got up that day—you know, premature death visions on your doomsday, not really a great start. It only got worse because Sam decided to get help from Ruby, despite my wise and thorough brotherly advice not to. I mean c’mon God, she was a frickin’ demon (not worth trusting) and besides, I told him I’d rather rot in Hell than trust the bitch. (Though I kinda am regretting that now.) Anywho, Sam summoned her and I, the smart one, set her up in one helluva devil’s trap, stole her demon-ganking knife, and told her to shut her pie-hole. Sam and I left, with Bobby, and I assumed that that was the last I would ever see of that black-eyed skank. WELL, God. I was wrong. That bitch got out, and oh, yeah, managed to let Lilith—the demon holding my contract, if you don’t know—to take over her meatsuit. So of course I realize this whole backroom-deal fiasco when time’s up and she sends her bloodsucking hounds after me. Then, well—I don’t know if you know this or not God, given that you weren’t there when hell, we kinda needed you—it was lights out for me. Downstairs. Yep. Thanks, God. Thank you for that.

And so gory, ripping me to shreds part aside, I passed over to the enlightening afterlife that I never wanted. Though I will admit, part of me was pretty damn curious about what actually goes on down there. I mean, hell. I was in Hell. The massive, insurmountable pit where all those low-life demon scum vacated in their free time to walk this earth. So I wondered, hey. If the remaining seven deadly sins were still cooped up there (Sam, Bobby, and I did gank a few last year), maybe I could get some action with Lust.

But then the second I arrived they showed me the ropes for real, rumors (and fantasies) aside. Literally. They actually chained me up by my bones and cut me all day for shaving practice. What dicks. After they finished, when there was nothing left, then I would magically reappear, unscathed, as if nothing ever happened. Then they would start in all over again. That’s when I knew God, two things: the first, that I was in Hell and the second, that you’re a real scumbag, you know that? I mean all I ever did was go around saving people and this is how you reward me? Hundreds of unlucky bastards would have died if I hadn’t done something. And hey, they might have deserved it. But you know what you do then, God? You give any poor guy like me the damn memo. I don’t have to sacrifice everything to save anybody. I have nothing. Like my dad said, I didn’t even get a home. Now am I wrong to say that there’s something wrong with that? Sheesh, you have got to get your priorities straight.

So, back to Hell. Like I could forget. Sometimes, I think Hell can be very akin to the timeout chair in elementary school. In both scenarios you’re left to stew over what got you there in the first place for what seems like forever. Well, in Hell’s case, it actually is. So likewise, I thought a lot about Sam, given that I made my deal so that he could live a semi-normal, happy life. And you know what God? Sometimes, when I think about him okay in that big world, I know I did right. That although I will rot in this miserable cesspool for eternity, at least he made it out. Because, hell, even I know that he’s got a better chance of getting me out, if ever the tables were turned. Which they never will be, for the record anyway.

All I know God, is when I think of Sammy, once college boy with a dream of Stanford, is that it was worth it. My life, my soul. Despite the horrors down here, it was worth saving him. Somehow that one selfless, selfish act has given my short life meaning, where otherwise it wouldn’t have any.


	2. Chapter 2

I hadn’t been in Hell very long before I met the big honcho. Enter into my brief time in the afterlife Alistair, kingpin demon. Otherwise known as Hell’s own antichrist superstar.

“Dean Winchester,” he cackled in a voice so nasally, it was enough to make one blow his ears out. In that moment alone, I wish I could have—but then again, I was being chopped into tiny pieces, so why bother. “My, my, what a treat we have here,” his voice slithered, as his tongue rolled out like a snake for extra measure. He circled where I hanged (yeah, yeah it should be “hung” but in this circumstance “hang” just paints the more accurate picture, so bite me) and then paused, albeit briefly. “You know I just love you Winchesters. Always sacrificing yourselves, and for what? Certainly not this.” He gestured before the flames and brimstone.

I glared at him. “Leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m busy?” I snapped, eyeing the chains and the knives. “Surely you have greater persons to irritate with that voice of yours? There’s probably lots of horrible folk down here. Mass murderers, child molesters, why don’t you go and torture them with your presence.”

“But Dean, Hell is a lifetime in its own. Why rush through it? When eventually you’ll be driven mad.” He smirked, displaying yellowed teeth.

“Naw, I’ll never become like the likes of you. You see I’m not really into the whole demon killer club. Where you all gather in a circle, and what? Share and care about each poor person you slaughtered, and hand out “GOOD JOB!” stickers to the ones who had the most gruesome kills? Sorry, I’m sure it’s a swell time, but you see I’m kinda tied up here right now, so you see I’ll have to pass.”

“Ah, Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean,” he tsked. “Always with the machismo. You do realize that one day you will break? You can’t hold out forever. Didn’t Ruby tell you? We were all like you once,” he sniffed with disgust, “utterly human. But humanity is weak Dean. Frail and fragile, it doesn’t take very long till it snaps.”

“Yeah, well. Screw you. Why are you even talking to me anyway?”

He grinned. “To offer you a deal.”

I frowned. “A deal? Are you that dumb or did your mother drop you on your head when you were little? Making a deal is what got me here you son of bitch. So why the hell would I make another one?”

“Because it can get you off that rack.”

“What?” I choked.

He smiled. “One day, Dean. You have survived one day in Hell without breaking. Congrats. Even I only managed to last that long.”

“What?” I glowered. “Before you made a deal?”

“Yes,” his teeth poked out through his mouth. “I can get you off, if you put souls back on.”

I frowned. “You’re asking me to torture people?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Then no. No. I won’t do it.”

“Now Dean. That’s not the answer I was hoping for.” He waved his pointer finger in disapproval. “You know this means these two,” he motioned to the demon henchmen at his shoulder, “will have to start fresh on snapping your ribs tomorrow morning.

“Till tomorrow,” I snickered. “What? Now you going soft on me, Alistair?”

He fixated me with his cheeky, yellowed grin. “Dean.” He snapped his fingers. “Tomorrow starts now.”

In a breath, they were upon me. I winced, as their blades sunk into my flesh. The wound burned bright, just like their eyes, with a hunger that could not be satisfied.

_Are you there God? It’s me, Dean Winchester. I’m in Hell still FYI, chained to a stake that I’ll never leave. At night, at day—I cannot tell which, for the transitions seem rather absent/everything is the same—the shrieks grow louder. The shadows blind me (when I have eyes to see) and I hear the most horrible cries (when I have ears). It is misery, God. Even though I assumed Hell to be rather bleak, I never expected this consistency of pain. It’s hard to think God, let alone dream of happier times. I came down here relying on them to keep me grounded within myself, but God, it just hurts so bad. It aches just to ache. And it’ll never stop. Not ever. Why did you allow such a place to be, God? Not even the worst of us deserve this torment. I met a powerful demon today. (Or was it yesterday?) His name is Alistair. And he offered me a deal. The most terrible deal, God. He wanted me torture hell-bound souls like myself. I refused. And now I’m stuck here forever, or rather till I break. God, please don’t let me break. I’m here, as it seems that’s what you wanted. But please, please don’t let me go._

Confession: I am not a praying man. I don’t have faith. Ever since Mom, I couldn’t. Nothing protected her, when she said the angels were watching. And so at four, I stopped believing; I didn’t care. And now look at us. Dad’s gone. Sam’s god-knows-where. And I’m in Hell with the fires raging over my skin. But now I plead with God to show me mercy—an act of humiliation I swore I would never do. But, it just hurts so bad. I, I don’t know what’s what anymore. All I know is that I have more reason to doubt your existence God, for every prayer I’ve made against my pride, even the smallest, has gone unanswered. You leave me with no choice but to ask why. Why are you doing this to me?—if you’re even really there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently in progress.

The next day Sam came to me. At first I thought I was delusional, lost in a dream-world of sorts so as to forget the pain, until he had called out to me.

“Dean.”

“Sammy?” I breathed. “Sam, you reckless bitch. Didn’t I tell you that you weren’t to come after me?”

A wry smile lit up his face. “And you think I could possibly live with that? You’re my brother, Dean. I had to come.”

I grinned. “That’s my boy! Now come over here and untie me. Please, tell me you know a way out of here? It’s no good you saving me if we both end up stuck down here, you know.”

“I do. Bobby’s waiting for us on the other side.”

“Bobby? He’s here, too?”

“Yeah. He couldn’t let you rot down here either,” he replied, grasping the fetters that bound me. “These are some pretty thick chains they got on you, Dean.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. You’d think I was VIP prisoner or something. What are you waiting for? Cut me down!”

Sam’s face twisted into a long toothless grin. “I can’t do that, Dean.”

“Well, why not?” I spluttered.

“Because,” Sam answered, as he yanked the chains, held taut in his large hands, against my throat, “after everything you did to me, Dean—calling me a freak, making the deal with the crossroads demon behind my back and then lying about it to my face—I couldn’t take it anymore! The things you would dump on me about Mom, about Dad, about the whole psychic thing, those were your problems! You couldn’t accept any of it! Not me! The way Dad sacrificed himself for you, how my abilities scared you. I was ready to die, Dean. You just couldn’t man up and shoot, could you? The thought of me gone, that’s what frightens you, eats you alive in your sleep at night. ‘Cause at the end of the day, Dean, you can’t stand being alone. So you sold your soul for me. But tell me how well that worked out for you? Now you’re here, Dean. In Hell. Alone. Rotting for eternity. It’s kind of poetic really. I just had to see it for myself.”

“Shut up.”

He tilted his head in mock pity. “There you go, Dean. Still hammering away with the I-could-care-less comebacks. When will you admit that you are too broken inside for them to save you and your pathetic, insecure little feelings?”

“Go to Hell.”

“Already there, Dean. With you tied helplessly to a stake. So let’s play a game, shall we? I call it Whose Fault Is It Anyway? With the offender taking the brunt of the punishment.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not so squeaky clean either, pal.”

“We’ll see about that. One: Being a hypocrite. Upsetting over Dad’s deal, only to sign your own. Telling me not to try and save you, and then abandoning me when your time ran out. Strike one, Dean.”

He flipped open a switchblade from his pocket.

“Hey, can we talk about this? Sammy, please. I don’t know what’s gotten—ACK!” A livid pain flared in my hand.

Sam smiled. “You’re not going to miss that finger, are ya, Dean?”

I grunted.

“Good. Let’s continue. Two: Distrusting me. Keeping me in your sight at all times for the fear that I’ll go gank some innocent person. When in reality, that psychic stuff helped us save more people. You know how the old saying goes, Dean: how sometimes it’s our eyes that blind us.”

He raised the bloodied blade to my iris. I watched each blood drop roll off and fall.

“Sammy, maybe I deserve this for what I put you through. But, this isn’t you, okay? Whatever they’ve done to you, I know you’re still in there. So fight it.”

“So now, you’re sorry? Just because I’m holding knife to your face?” he frowned. “You honestly think that I can accept that? No. I won’t.”

“Sammy, I—”

“Stop calling me Sammy, it’s Sam!” He thrusted the knife home, the sharp tip piercing my eye, till it burst.

I screamed at the agony. All was suddenly black and darkness. I couldn’t see.

“Sam, please,” I sobbed, as red tears scourged down my face. “I’m sorry.”

“Bravo, Dean,” Sam praised, clapping his hands. “Bravo.”

* * *

 

The next thing I knew was that I was whole again. I lacked no limbs nor eyes. And what I saw surprised me, as in that instant, Sam poofed into nothing. I frowned. I didn’t know how, but he was gone.

“Sam?”

“Never was, I’m afraid, Deany boy,” came a nasally, irritating voice from the darkness, which could only mean one thing:

“Alistair,” I snarled.

He sauntered out of the shadows and into the fire’s light. “Tis I, always at your service.”

“What did you do with Sam?”

“Sam?” he asked, feigning sincerity, “Nothing. Haven’t seen him round these parts.”

I glowered. “You look into my eyes, you son of a bitch, and tell me that you didn’t drag him down here, or else so-help-me-God—”

“Is that what you think you saw?”

I gaped. “Think I saw? Of course I saw him! He was right here until you showed up, which leaves me to wonder: Sam Gone + Boss Demon Appearance = What the Hell did you do with him?”

“They call it Hell for a reason, Dean. Did you honestly believe it was all slicing and dicing? No,” he shook his head, “what’s the fun in that?”

“What are you quibbling about you black-eyed bastard?”

Alistair smiled. “All in good tiiime, Dean. All in good time. The Mother said you were going to be a hard one to crack. All that anger; all that pain. Mmm,” he sniffed, “I can just taste it. So savory. Just like your daddy before you.”

“You knew my dad?”

“Of course. I was the one who made him scream.”

“You’re lying. My dad would never—”

“Still daddy’s little soldier? Tell me, Dean, how’d it feel when he died for you? How he resigned himself to the very rack you now rest upon? And you Dean, what a way to cherish his memory by taking his very place? It could move even little me to tears.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, mind your language boy. We can’t have potty mouths in our fine academy.” Alistair raised a fist and clenched it. As he did so, the manacles chained to my skin tightened. I grimaced.


End file.
